If I could reach through the quiet

 If I could reach through the quiet

and touch your heart the way I used to,
this is what I’d say:

Meet me in the meadow.

Not in the places where the sadness sits heavy,
not in the rooms where the silence feels sharp,
but in that gentle world we once created together—
half memory,
half heaven,
all love.

You’ll know it when you’re there.
The grass is tall and warm,
the kind that brushes your legs
the way my tail once did.

The wind smells like everything familiar—
sun on fur,
the earth after rain,
the soft comfort of home.

And I’ll be there.
Running without pain,
without age,
without the heaviness that touched my final days.

I’ll be whole.
I’ll be light.
I’ll be the pure joy
you always said I carried in my eyes.

When you come to the meadow—
in dreams,
in memories,
in those sudden moments when love feels too big to hold—
I’ll find you.

I always do.

I’ll press my head into your chest
the way I used to.
You’ll feel it—
that warmth,
that recognition,
that “there you are”
that only souls who belong together understand.

And for a moment,
the ache will soften.
The world will blur.
And it will be just us again—
the way it was,
the way it will be someday
when your steps finally join mine for real.

Until then,
meet me in the meadow
whenever your heart needs rest.

I’ll be waiting
in the sunlight,
in the tall grass,
in the place where goodbye doesn’t exist—
only love.